


Oil On Water

by Tandirra



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Jotun Loki, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, on the Grandmaster's part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 19:37:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14143089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tandirra/pseuds/Tandirra
Summary: The Grandmaster's words are sweeter than any drink on Sakaar and twice as intoxicating.





	Oil On Water

By the press of silk sheets against his skin as he awoke, Loki knew where he was. Though the feeling of being turned inside out, the filthiness that sprung from within himself rather than out, and a certain tender soreness, those too were markers of the night before in place of memories that were slow to come. Opening his eyes, Loki stared at the intricately patterned geometric ceiling of some indiscriminate room inside one the Grandmaster’s many lavish towers.

He felt feverish, somehow both hot and cold. Just on the verge of breaking into a sweat yet shivering with a chill that was bone deep. The nausea in his stomach was not an unfamiliar after effect of spending time in the Grandmaster’s company but the intensity with which it wracked him now, a kind of tugging anxiety ready to spill over with the slightest wrong movement, was an extreme but not an outright oddity. It wasn't the first time he'd awoken like this since landing on Sakaar and, no matter what he wanted- whatever that _was-_ it would not be the last. He thought, briefly, of standing but even the idea inspired a raging headache behind his temple.

Instead he shut his eyes tight against the daylight pouring from the wide windows and curled in on himself, twisting the sheets into a cocoon. In that- relative- safety, Loki attempted to piece together the night before.

Memory returned in blurry flashes. The multicolored glass of four- five- more perhaps- overly sweet drinks the Grandmaster handed him. A blur of music and light, too loud, too bright. The Grandmaster’s hands on his chest, his neck, his ass, everywhere, _everywhere,_  as they always found themselves- partially because Loki let them, even appreciated them- partially because he knew they likely would whether or not he attempted to stop them.

Loki felt himself shudder, shame coiling somewhere in his chest and, unfortunately, in his gut, throbbing low “Oh, oh no. _No,”_ he groaned in denial, raw throat barely managing the words. “Not this early.” Burying the shame, Loki leapt for something more for his mind to dwell on, anything to quell his traitorous body. He settled, finally, on how miserable he still felt. Both too hot and too cold. The sheets he wrapped himself tighter in did nothing to help. He needed up, needed a shower, the beat of water against his back to soothe him into remembering the night; though remembering itself posed some small terror. The fear of the unknown that each dark splotch of missing memory cultivated inspired some notable panic. Still, the task of standing left him uncertain. But it would have to happen eventually. When the Grandmaster called again- and he would- Loki couldn’t be too slow to reply.

With a push of will, Loki forced himself up. He groaned and felt every second of the motion deep in his gut, different than the shame though no less uncomfortable. He squinted against the light, somehow worse than before, almost blinding to look at directly, and stared at the massive mirror that made up the wall he saw. It took him a moment to register what reflection he carried. The deep red eyes that watched him back were not immediately familiar. Nor the blue ridged skin that twisted his features.

Lurching towards the reflection, Loki stared at his Jotun skin, stricken dumb by its appearance. But the shock of horror didn’t beat his furious stomach as he crumpled to the ground. Vomit, too purple from the poison of concoctions he’d foolishly imbibed in at the Grandmaster's encouragement, splattered the floor and ravaged his already raw throat. It burned, burned worse by this skin. Like molten lead was being ripped from him. He gagged until nothing but bile came up and then after that still, heaving up foul air. Until tears, unnaturally cold, pricked at his eyes. Until the spasms of his gut subsided. Until he was left shivering, too hot, too cold, staring at his blue hands, dark nails, and the contents of his stomach on the floor.

He hadn't even known Jotun could cry.

“Fuck,” he muttered bluntly to nobody. The taste of his bile on his tongue turned his already exhausted stomach. The rank smell of sick curled his lip. Poison drawn out of his body, Loki forced himself up and staggered back. As he did he saw the ridges that marked his hands, his face, the ones he’d seen before, but briefly, drew downwards. They were there on his stomach, his thighs. It surprised him, though he knew it shouldn’t have.

After an uneventful few years he'd grown the slightest bit accustomed to his monstrous nature. Not at peace, quite, but a certain feeling of resignation to this fate. The people of Asgard were going to have a Jotun king and would be unaware; he'd treated it as a sick joke at first. At least, until he'd grown bored. Then he'd let the worries rest, there was nothing to be done.

But here. Here after seeing Thor again and then knowing he was dead- Loki flinched, throwing off the thoughts, burying the awful sickness that came when he thought of Thor. Of Odin and this new-old sister in Hela. Of Thor dead by her hand-

Thor had, in the end, two monster siblings. At least one of them had been of proper Aesir blood.

Biting his tongue, Loki turned from his reflection.

Walking, or more accurately stumbling, around the puddle of sick, Loki made it to the bathroom without collapsing again or gagging. He leaned against the metal sink and found relish in the fact that it was clean and cold. That, at least, was something precious to cradle. He turned the handle and reached for the water in hopes of cleansing his body but hesitated, watching it steam and froth. His hands, blue, trembled. The steam rose, obscuring the mirror in front of him. It blurred his figure to a dark blob. Not turning off the water he leaned towards that fogged figure.

Red eyes stared back.

Exposed utterly, Loki flinched and looked down, unable to meet his own eye. He stared instead at his hands as he pressed them against his abdomen, felt the ridges swirling there under the pad of his thumb. The sensation shivered hot in his gut and made his breath catch in his throat.

In place of his own hands he remember the Grandmaster’s. A teasing touch, low, lower, following the lines in his skin. Whispered words of praise that left Loki warm despite everything. Warm, pathetically so. Shame bubbled low and left him wishing he could melt into the floor.

For a moment he reasoned how likely that was like this. Was he naught but ice in flesh? Could he shatter like them? He'd seen them break, break to his knives, to Mjolnir-

Turning away from his skin, Loki stared at the patterned metal walls. There were more pressing problems at the moment than questions of his own fragile mortality.

The Grandmaster knew this secret now. Knew and would surely never let it go. His standards were low enough to like this form. Clearly he'd fucked Loki like this. He'd want to do it again; the Grandmaster as Loki understood him was a man willing to try everything as many times as he pleased.

The Grandmaster knew. And how many others, Loki didn’t know, he couldn’t remember. The gap in his memory left him nearly as sick as he'd felt upon rising. “Damn.” Sighing, Loki willed his skin to shift, to shield this ugly truth. It didn’t do so immediately and, for a long moment, Loki simply watched the chest of his blurry reflection, too tired to be alarmed.

When the realization that he wasn’t changing hit, Loki looked up, forcing himself to meet the red eyes of his own reflection as a wave crashed down upon him, drowning him slowly. “No- how long…” His voice cracked. He had no idea how long he'd worn this skin. Never had he before for longer than a few moments, no longer than needed, every second with it he was an aching nerve laid bare. Biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to distract from roiling panic, Loki reached within himself, searching for the vile cold he knew was there with the intent to smother it. To lock it away not to be touched upon again.

 _“Oh,”_ came the voice of the Grandmaster, almost singsong. Loki flinched despite himself and sharp pain shot through his cheek as his teeth cut through flesh. “Blue, where, uh, where are you?” _Blue,_ that was a new one.

Tasting blood as he unclenched his jaw and freed his mutilated cheek, Loki weighed his options. He should have clothed himself. Too late now, the Grandmaster would notice the light of a spell and take it as an offence. Loki could hear the Grandmaster’s footsteps drawing closer. They paused and Loki remembered the vomit on the floor, heart sinking. That would be mentioned, no doubt. All too exposed, Loki wrapped his arms tight around his chest, a futile gesture of modesty.

The Grandmaster stood in the doorway, draped lazily but firmly blocking the bedroom outside, boxing Loki in. He smiled at Loki expectantly. _“There_ you are!” His eyes moved down Loki’s bare frame, ravishing in a way that made Loki want to squirm.

If Jotnar could blush, Loki felt like he was. He imagined it was an ugly purple, or perhaps a darker blue, though he dared not take his eyes from the madman to check the mirror.

Sliding off the door frame, the Grandmaster danced a pair of fingers up Loki’s arm as he drew close. Every time his nail scratched against a dark ridge Loki twitched, the touch thrilling through him. “You’re so tense, babe!”

“It’s nothing.” Loki answered, contemplating what was the right answer here. “I'm simply… tired. Sore.” Which he was, though that wasn't the source of his anxiety in the slightest.

The Grandmaster just chuckled. “I’d bet.” With a click of his tongue, the Grandmaster stopped his fingers halfway up Loki’s crossed arms and laid both hands on Loki’s shoulders. The touch was warm almost to the point of burning; it left Loki lightheaded. “And how could we fix that?” He patted Loki’s cheek. “Maybe a nice bath,” his eyes went towards the deep tub behind Loki. “Though… mh, maybe not like that, gorgeous.” With a simple wave he motioned towards Loki's skin. “I'm no expert but- uh- that seems like it might be… bad for you. And I only want what’s best, yeah?”

Loki couldn't stop himself from laughing at that. Though he composed himself quickly as he’d broken and played the infraction with a smile. “Of course.” His words dripped with honey, sweet and sincere as he could manage; which, even in his condition, should be enough to fool the Grandmaster.

For a frightful second the Grandmaster’s face was blank. Then he lit up, beaming. “Goodie!” His smile slipped to something expectant as he leaned in close and planted a kiss on Loki’s lips. The touch of skin was so warm it almost burned and even after the Grandmaster pulled away Loki could feel his lips near sizzling. The sensation was so strange it took Loki a moment to recognize the disappointment in the Grandmaster’s eyes. “Now, uh, where’s the enthusiasm in that?” He stuck out his lower lip in a pout. “I’ve seen better.”

Shaking off the distraction, Loki sucked in a quick breath. His lips still tingled but he ignored the desire to brush at them. “Many apologies. I believe both of us know I can do better than that.” It was an offer, one the Grandmaster would surely take.

The Grandmaster regarded him, still keeping the hints of petulance. “Hmm,” he nodded slowly, still looking doubtful. “Of course you can, doll. I'm just thinking if I want you to prove that just yet, you know?” Loki didn't, but said nothing and remained benignly silent, smiling vaguely despite his alarm. The Grandmaster hardly ever hesitated in pleasing himself, that he did so now was worrying. “You did hide such a delightful secret from me. I was too excited about it last night to really _think_ about it. But… _but.”_ He tapped in his chin thoughtfully. “I'm a little hurt, Lo.” And he sounded it. “After all we've gone through, it took you this long to give me this _gift_ of a look.”

Hoping to reassure, _wanting_ to- and cursing himself for the depth of that desire- Loki stepped closer. He'd get nowhere with the Grandmaster like this, at best he'd be punished- the thought made him shiver- at worst, the arena was an ever present threat. “I hadn't realized you’d take it so personally. I'd gladly apologize…” Which was at least partially lie but one he could follow through on. Loki licked his lips, waiting for approval to reach out and touch the Grandmaster.

Loki couldn’t ignore how much the hesitation on the Grandmaster’s part stung as much as he wanted to.

“I know, doll. I'm just feeling a little disappointed.” The man his opposite brightened all too quickly. “Don't worry yourself about it. You can make it up to me later.” Though his words only inspired more anxiety. “Sad as I might be that you, ah- denied me such a delight for so long… I'm being positive!” He laughed to himself, looking pleased. “It's all water under the metaphorical bridge, Lo. Just make sure you’re on time to our party tonight. Like that, of course.”

“No.” Loki’s brain caught up to his voice a moment too late. He saw the Grandmaster freeze in place, eyes wide with shock at his denial.

The hurt his shock transformed into almost looked genuine. _“No?_ Now, doll, you don’t _mean_ that, do you?”

That he was not being immediately punished nearly robbed Loki of a response. Though it was, perhaps, a good sign as well. He did truly mean it, but saying _no_ so blatantly again would likely ensure some awful backlash. Mind racing, Loki smiled and knew it looked weak, desperate even; though, in his monstrous form, perhaps not. “Respectfully, I would prefer otherwise. Please.” It hurt to beg but when his alternative was the Grandmaster parading this form around, Loki could stand the blow to his pride.

For a long moment the Grandmaster merely stared at him, face blank, eyes wide but irritatingly unreadable. Then he took Loki by the shoulders and squeezed tight to the point that Loki could feel his eyes threatening to water as alarms rung in his head. Alarms he planned to all but disobey. “Why? It would make me very happy. Don’t you want that? That's what we're all about here, making each other happy. It's all about the give and take, babe.”

Attempting to ignore the way the Grandmaster’s hands tingled against his skin and the ridges there, Loki sucked in a breath that wasn’t as steady as he’d have liked. He did want to, much as it stung. The Grandmaster’s praise flowed so easily; that he was now being denied stung twice as much for it. He could attempt a lie, but if the Grandmaster caught him in it- well, he was already treading uncertain waters with this denial. A half truth then. “I do- just-- This form has the possibility to be dangerous in ways I cannot fully control. I would hate to do harm to you because of my own fickle skin.”

“You were fine last night,” the Grandmaster pouted. To which Loki could do nothing but manage a faint smile, smothering the rising uneasiness of his own spotted memory. Before he could do more, the Grandmaster’s whine switched on a beat, the way most of his moods did, and suddenly he was chuckling. “Besides, I’m- mhm- _me._ You couldn’t hurt me if you tried, Lo.”

If possible, Loki went cold. Or colder.

One hand sliding until it rested against Loki’s neck, the Grandmaster just shook his head like an admonishment. “I want what will make you happiest, obviously,” he said and the words wormed themselves into Loki’s brain, insidious as they were false. “But, doll, I _really_ like this on you. It just--” His smile stretched a hair wider and hungrier. “I think that you just- just need to get used to it. Be a little less jumpy! Stop trying to… trying to crawl out of your own skin! It’ll be _good_ for you, Lo. Have a good time and don't think so much! So both of us can be happy! I mean… _blue!_ My favorite. What could be more perfect?” His other hand made it to Loki’s neck until he was cradling Loki’s head, scratching at Loki’s scalp almost absentmindedly.

Loki felt his body tense then relax, almost melting. Felt himself trying to lean into the contact and hated that he had to act to stop him from doing so. “And if, like this, that easiness is impossible?”

“Ridiculous! Nothing is impossible with me helping. Impossible is an ugly word, we're not about that here.”

The Grandmaster wasn’t going to let him out, Loki knew it. He’d dangle the possibility of it in front of Loki like he would but it would remain eternally out of reach. Stretching further could only lead to an angler fish prize, one that would be reached with his life forfeit. “Your confidence is inspiring.” Loki couldn’t quite manage the level of enthusiasm he stretched for.

But it was clearly enough, as the Grandmaster beamed. “I know. So, you'll be there?”

Looping his hands around the Grandmaster's waist, Loki finally nodded. “With your encouragement, how could I refuse?” He smiled at his own half-joke.

He couldn’t refuse, of course.

“That's the spirit!” With a wide smile, the Grandmaster leaned in close, buckling his hips against Loki's frame so that the fabric of his robes brushed against Loki's bare stomach. He pressed his lips against Loki’s, still smiling. “Oh, I can't be mad at you for long, not when you're looking as good as that and oh-so cooperative.” Abandoning words, he pushed Loki against the metal wall, tilting Loki's head back to attack the blue flesh his throat with his too hot mouth.

Loki’s breath stuttered as the Grandmaster’s tongue traced one of the ridges trailing down his throat. Heat, overwhelming in his Jotun skin, spiked through him, throbbing with every heartbeat, with every flick of the Grandmaster’s expert tongue. One of his hands dropped to trace one of the ridges near Loki's left nipple, scratching at it in an almost casual, but undeniably rhythmic pattern. Loki bit back a groan as his body wobbled. Scrambling for control, Loki brought his hands to the Grandmaster's chest and saw them trembling as he pulled himself up and pulled at the robes around him.

The Grandmaster paused and, in the moment Loki had, he recognized himself brought low so quickly, so easily. His Jotun skin was an exposed nerve indeed. The thought, had it managed to find purchase in his scrambling mind, may have made him sick.

Before he could begin to formulate even the weakest of plans, the Grandmaster's teeth nipped his neck and Loki's knees almost buckled entirely. The moan he'd been stifling escaped as the Grandmaster latched onto the side of his neck, working at his skin mercilessly. The sound of it was mortifying and sent shame running through him, unable to stop the throbbing heat and instead mixing with it, surrendering like Loki himself. His hips bucked against the silken robes as the Grandmaster worked, Loki’s body twitching with every motion, wanting. Abandoning the pretense of control, his hands scrabbled to pull the Grandmaster closer, only to be denied as the Grandmaster shifted back slightly, still not loosing from his neck but moving so that Loki couldn't find friction to grind against.

The whine that escaped Loki's lips only fueled the shame burning within him.

“You want this?” The Grandmaster’s voice was husky in Loki’s ear. He closed the gap separating their bodies, the hand not teasing Loki’s nipple fell to brush against the head of his cock.

At the touch, Loki hiccuped a pair of quick, unsteady breathes. His body screamed for more than what the Grandmaster was supplying. “Ple- _ah!”_ Loki choked on his cry as the Grandmaster’s teeth pulled against the raw skin. Body tight as a bowstring, ears ringing, Loki felt himself straining desperately for more, unable to even breathe as every draw of breath hurt and did nothing satisfy.

And, in that trembling instant, the Grandmaster pulled away, leaving Loki leaning against the metal wall. He wiped at his lips, smiling like a self satisfied cat. “So, party tonight. Be there.”

“Wha…” rendered dumb by his throbbing, unfulfilled body, Loki stared at him, barely seeing. His entire being buzzed a high note, wavering on a ledge but unable to jump.

The Grandmaster eyed him appreciatively for a few moments before shaking his head. “No, no,” he said almost to himself. “I can't. I'm still rather… disappointed with you for lying to me.” The words made Loki shrink back, holding stinging bite despite everything. “I can't give you everything, what kind of standard would that set? That I want you to lie to me? No, of course I don't! I’m a giving person, dare I say, the most… generous person around. But there have to be limitations.” He almost seemed sincere in his anguish, as if denying Loki genuinely hurt him. It didn’t of course, because if it did he wouldn’t hesitate in remedying that pain. Turning on heel, the Grandmaster practically bounced towards the door, only stopping to turn back when he was almost out of view. “Oh, and- ah- do be sure to clean yourself up. You know I _love_ you looking so disheveled when the moment calls for it, but… but I haven't seen you looking your prettiest like this yet.” He winked. “I'm excited.” With a wave, he disappeared, footsteps fading from earshot.

Swallowing hard, Loki glanced down at himself and realized just how far down the wall he'd slid, his legs splayed open like some quivering whore. Shame burning beneath his skin, he finished himself with a few deft strokes and dropped to the floor, shaking and feeling too ill to even relish in the release.

It took him little more time to find his glamour and return to it. As the ridges on his skin disappeared, Loki attempted to collect himself, putting back the pieces that the Grandmaster had scattered. It was a futile effort but he embarked upon it anyway.

The shower he drew burned his newly pale skin until it was pink and he let it, not caring for any misguided, ineffectual instinct of self preservation. He realized, all too late, that what the Grandmaster had done had been punishment, if a tame kind. The thought made him bury his face in his hands, shame hot as the water whipping his back. Shutting off the shower when his entire body stung, Loki watched the suds disappear down the drain, letting water from his hair run into his eyes. The flowery soap stung enough to force him to stop.

Steam filled the air, obscuring the mirror, which he ignored pointedly. The vomit had been wiped clean off the floor as he stepped into the light. He left a puddle with each footstep, unable to muster the emotion to care, and collapsed, still wet, onto the newly made bed. He allowed himself a small moment to relish in a minor inconvenience as he ruined the carefully laid bed, wrapping the sheets tight around himself.

Truly, he thought with bitter relish, he’d faintly annoyed some exhausted maid.

Barking a too loud laugh, Loki shut his eyes tight. “You were the King of Asgard.” The name spiked at his heart as it slipped past his lips. “Look at you now. Look at you.” But he didn’t, opting to stay in the dark. It was infinitely easier.

But under too much silence, Loki felt himself lingering on the cold pit that resided within him. When he realized the dread with which his thoughts angled, he sat up, shaking off the covers. He opened his eyes to the mirror which reflected green eyes back at him and felt an almost sort of  relief. “Cannot avoid it forever, now can you?” His reflection copied his words and Loki saw himself sneer. “Ruined this for yourself, as you do.” With a flick of his wrist, Loki’s clothes shimmered in around him as he shook off the sheets that enveloped him. He glared at his reflection, burning his shame until it was bitter disgust. “Is there nothing you cannot-” Cutting himself off, Loki turned from the mirror but froze only steps from the door.

He couldn’t leave like this, much as he wanted to. The Grandmaster had requested otherwise and his requests were all but outright orders, only sprinkled with enough infectious charisma to make them sound otherwise. Knowing the nature of them changed nothing, however. Loki could not leave until he let his glamour fall or dare retaliation, something he’d already once incurred, no matter how small the dose. Little as Loki liked it, he’d left himself only two options: change or be punished, likely severely. And the tame punishment he’d already received had been enough, too much.

The choice was, in the end, simple.

Loki reached the door and, in that moment, dove for the cold pit he’d locked away. Its presence overwhelmed, spreading through his veins, sharp and clear as fresh spring water. He couldn’t help but gasp, having long since forgotten the minutiae of the change, the way the light reflected off white with deeper intensity, the temperature shift around him and within him, that left him feeling out of place and not entirely himself yet intimately aware of his every movement. In tight leather, his skin jumped and crawled, not built for such trappings of civility.

He brought a hand to his face, attempting to center himself, only to watch his nails turn black as the last of the Jotun flesh overtook his glamour. Jerking his hand back, Loki bit his lip, just for a moment hoping to draw dark blood. With a slow sigh, though, he released his skin and reached for some modicum of power over himself, bringing both his hands up to braid the most elaborate knots he knew into his hair. So familiar he didn’t even need a mirror to track his progress. The knots that had taken years upon years of practice to perfect their exact loops, ones that Frigga had taught none but himself. When he was finished he ran a thumb over the intertwined strands, shivering at the sheer unnatural attentiveness of his skin, every imperfection, spot of friction, magnified a thousandfold.

When he was done with his inspection, Loki tucked his unbraided hair behind his ears and balled his fists at his sides. He left the room, finally then, certain he’d end up in it sometime again.

Much as he wanted to do otherwise, Loki kept his head high as he walked through the halls. There were eyes on him, as there always were, but he felt them now with a thousand times the intent. The eyes burned holes in his skin that ached and itched. He bore the stares, only walking faster.

Following his intuition and the noise of revelry brought Loki upwards in the Grandmaster’s tallest tower. The hour was growing late, the light from the many windows fading quickly, but the party itself had yet to devolve into its peak level of debauchery. For that, he was grateful. Less so grateful for the unoccupied eyes that turned his way.

“Oh! Look at you, gorgeous!” The Grandmaster’s voice cut through the music and in an instant, the man was at Loki's side, grabbing his face with both hands to inspect him, making approving sounds all the while. The burn of a hundred eyes faded beneath the Grandmaster's attentions. “I told you you'd look great, didn't I?” Loki couldn't respond, mouth slightly ajar as the Grandmaster traced one of the ridges on his cheek that led to his hairline and to the start of a braid. “Oh! Delightful.” He turned to look behind him, where Topaz stood, glaring at Loki. “Wasn't I just saying that he would be perfect?”

_Perfect._

Loki couldn't even laugh in disbelief with the Grandmaster's fingers clamped iron on his jaw.

“Yes, sir, you were.” Topaz kept up her glare, unfazed and deadpan.

He patted Loki's cheek before pulling back. “Yes. Yes I was. Now that you're here we can get this party started.” With a snap of his fingers there was a waiter at their side and a drink in his hand.

Hesitating just a moment too long, Loki reached for the glass. Only to be denied as the drink was raised away from him.

The Grandmaster waggled a finger. “Now, I saw that.” Loki merely quirked his head, faking innocence. “No need to worry, I promise. Take it.”

Knowing the promise was empty changed nothing, but Loki took the drink nevertheless. It could, at the least, make bearing this night easier. He looked pointedly away from his hand when he saw how ice crept up the glass from his grip.

“There you go again, pouting.” Looping an arm through his, the Grandmaster elbowed Loki in the ribs lightly, sidling close enough for Loki to feel his hot breath on the back of his neck. “I _know_ you can have a good time. Smile, stop thinking so much! And,” his smile turned coy, “if you really aren’t having fun… well, there are other ways to entertain ourselves, aren’t there? Ways I _know_ you can get into no matter what you look like.”

Somehow, the man made it sound like the inevitable was optional. Like if Loki simply asked nicely he could slip free of this routine; as if every attempt at just that hadn’t failed, dissuaded by the Grandmaster’s insistence or Loki’s own body’s weaknesses. “There certainly are.” Sipping his drink, Loki shivered. The taste of the alcohol seemed magnified along with all his other senses. Even Sakaar’s drinks, usually so sweet he could taste naught but the syrupy concoction hiding copious amounts of alcohol, curled his lip. For a moment he found himself wondering how Asgard’s liquor would taste like this before he struck the thought away, burying it under another mouthful.

“Come on, mingle. I just want to-” with a little shimmy, The Grandmaster’s hands trailed down Loki’s back, “-show you off to everybody. I feel like I’ve won a prize. And it’s _you.”_

Letting the Grandmaster compliment him was admittedly easy; certainly more so than speaking himself. And, for now, it seemed Loki could slide by on a smile. He allowed himself be led around, shown off like a prize show animal. It was insulting, shameful even; Loki found himself once again grateful that no blush could rise on blue skin. And, despite the inherent insult of such a showcase, the Grandmaster’s hands were soft on the small of Loki's back as he directed, his words as sincere and enthusiastic a praise Loki could imagine.

Such praise was more than this form deserved. But the Grandmaster seemed intent on otherwise.

“Lo, head up.” Warm fingers brushed Loki's neck, just missing the ridges leading down from his chin. Where they touched the fingers left trailing spots of warmth tingling against Loki's skin.

Obeying, Loki lifted his head, paying little attention to the gaggle of elaborately dressed aliens surrounding them and instead holding the eye of the Grandmaster. For Loki's diligence he earned a hum of approval that settled light in his stomach.

One of the women, whose hair rose high above her in elaborate loops that almost doubled her height, peered at him like a slab of meat. Her gaze made his skin crawl. “They are geometric _and_ natural?”

Realizing he was expected to answer, Loki looked to the woman, unable to shake his sense of unease. “Yes, entirely.”

The Grandmaster squeezed Loki's shoulders. “They- uh- go all the way down, too.” His eyes widened as he gasped. “Actually, doll, would you mind taking your top off?”

He would, deeply. “Would I?” Loki challenged with a smile.

“Cheeky.” With an easy laugh, the Grandmaster slapped Loki's ass hard enough to edge from playful into painful, jolting Loki forward. “Go on. Tease them a bit. This darling woman here designs my favorite art pieces. Maybe give her some ideas and you might get one built after yourself. Exciting, huh?”

Reigning in a resigned sigh, Loki flicked his wrist and felt his outfit flicker, exposing his chest to a smattering of surprised outbursts. The woman reached forward and Loki went still, holding his breath to keep from jerking away. She stopped, though, only moments from his abdomen as the Grandmaster cleared his throat, hand going to hover over Loki's shoulder. The protective gesture, skewed as Loki knew it was, made Loki's heart flutter painfully.

Retracting her hand, the woman smiled tensely. “Right. Just a tease.” She straightened and Loki watched her hair tilt dangerously to one side. “Well, once you're ready to share, Grandmaster sir, I am interested.” She looked to Loki, still watching him like he was some clueless beast. “My passion are statues. You would make quite the unique specimen like that.”

The image that leapt to Loki's head was not immediately altogether unpleasant. Though the hunger in the woman's gaze squashed what little appreciation Loki had for the idea. “Perhaps. If I can find the time in my busy schedule.” His leading glance towards the Grandmaster earned laughter that he joined in on, not feeling the least bit amused.

Still chuckling, the Grandmaster waved a hand at the gathered crowd. “Speaking of… please, entertain yourselves.” With that dismissal, they were left as alone as could be at such events. Loki made to return his clothes but the Grandmaster caught his hand. “Ah-ah, not so fast. No need to put that back on after you've already gone to all the trouble to take it off. Am I right?”

“Of course,” Loki lied.

“I am! I am!” Swinging around to face him head on, the Grandmaster’s hands found their place on Loki's hips, warm enough to make him shiver. “I think that's enough showing off, don't you?” He didn't wait for an answer. “Come, let’s sit for a little. Have another drink.” As they settled to a plush purple couch, the Grandmaster snapped his fingers at a passing servant.

Settling into the warmth of the couch, Loki folded one leg over the other. It wasn't until he settled that he noticed the reflective window behind the Grandmaster and, looking away, the one to his left, reflecting the exposed blue of his skin. “Ah,” he turned to closely inspecting the cloth of the couch, discomfort battling with disgust to turn his stomach.

“See, see I knew it!” Scooting close, the Grandmaster grabbed Loki's arm. “I thought I noticed you- you _avoiding_ yourself all night.”

“No- no I-” Loki stuttered to a stop as the Grandmaster pressed a finger to his lips. He went still, frozen with anxiety.

“Tell me the truth.”

The phrase repeated itself in Loki's mind. There was another lie stuck on his tongue. He hadn't been doing anything of the sort. Or- or had he?

Forced to reflect, the Grandmaster’s finger still on his lips, Loki swallowed hard, fighting past the rising knot twisting in his stomach. He had been avoiding his reflection. Of course he had. No matter how he lied to himself he had avoided himself, choosing to turn his gaze anywhere but inward.

And the man his opposite would not understand. Could not. This was, at most, an inconvenience to him. An inconvenience putting Loki's place in jeopardy.

Mustering a smile against the Grandmaster’s finger, Loki waited until the finger fell away to speak. “I may have been… almost unconsciously.”

“It's all that mess up there in your pretty head.” Sighing, the Grandmaster almost looked pitying, though the slightest edge of irritation sharpened his voice. “Why can't you just just…” he waved his hands, gesturing around at the multicolored neons of the party around them. “Forget it, you know? This is Sakaar; I'm here, why should your past matter? The only thing that matters… is me!” With a laugh, the man patted Loki’s cheek, finger brushing against one of the ridges scoring Loki’s cheek. "And you." He added after a moment. "How you _feel."_

Shivering, Loki opened his mouth to reply but found himself uncertain, distracted only in part by the hand on his cheek. “That is… certainly one way to look at things.”

“The right way!” The Grandmaster chastised lightly, not dropping his wide smile. “I mean- you’re never leaving so why worry?”

Unable to hide a flinch, Loki heard his words repeat. _Never leaving._ The prospect, the stagnation, filled Loki with some near indefinably vast fear. He’d die here; it was a thought he’d had many a time since landing on the planet in a heap of junk. Still, it had been his thought alone, never expressed verbally by the Grandmaster or anyone else of importance.

“Hey, hey? Don’t look so blue.” The Grandmaster burst into a manic laugh. “Actually do,” he winked, elbowing Loki in his exposed ribs. “But you know what I mean. Did you really have anywhere to go but here? And isn’t this the best place you could be? Here, with me.”

The questions were rhetorical at best. With only one right answer if Loki deigned give them one. Which he did. “Yes, yes of course,” he said, feeling hollow. The words didn’t even feel a lie, he couldn’t decide if they were. He didn’t belong anywhere, hadn’t since long before he’d learned of his heritage. He was Loki of Nowhere, truly, only adopting monikers as flippantly as Odin had plucked him from the snow. Nowhere but Sakaar, at least. And the confidence and insistence with which the Grandmaster claimed him… he could lie to himself all he wanted but something deep in his chest, past the shame, craved just that. He felt himself lean into the Grandmaster’s touch and didn’t stop himself, melting against the fine fabric of the robes. “Sakaar is…”

Interrupting him with a kiss to the lips, soft as Loki had ever been given by the man, the Grandmaster patted his head. Like an owner to their beast, a claim of ownership. The disgust at his situation wormed its way through the whole in Loki’s chest. Though it couldn’t find enough traction to do anything but slip back into the recesses of his mind. “Sakaar is,” the Grandmaster repeated, “exactly what I- and _you,_ obviously _-_ want it to be.”

Loki did little but nod along as the Grandmaster’s hands slid down his stomach.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had a thousand different Frostmaster fics bouncing around in my WIPs for months they've been burning me alive


End file.
